not sure yet- suggestions?
by Kyman07
Summary: Roommates by Force. Enemies by Default. Friends by Chance. Lovers by Choice. Kyman, with some light Stendy, Creek, Style, and Bunny on the side. In need of a title. T for now, until it gets bad. Contains cussing and eventually sexual themes.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi! My name is Kyman07. I love the pairing of Cartman and Kyle, from South Park (no shit, huh, Sherlock?) so I decided to attempt to write it. Just gonna point out now, Kyle in Chains and Waiting on an Enemy were major influences. They're both Kyman stories, and if you haven't read them, you aren't true Kyman fans, dickholes. ANYWAY. This story, in case you haven't already noticed, will contain major cussing, and eventually, uh, sexual themes. Yeh. So. Uh, they're probably fifteen here, maybe sixteen. Possibly even seventeen. I'll decide later. Okay. Enjoy. :) In Kahl's PoV. Cartman's too damn evil. He'd be hard._

Ever notice how when you fall asleep in class, it's a weird mix between a deep and conscious sleep? And you don't really dream, but it seems like you do because you can hear everything around you? And feel?

Speaking of feeling, something was poking me hard in the gut, and it also was yelling in my ear: "Jew. Jew! I'm talking to you!"

I was snapped from my sleep by a certain fat-ass. I looked up with blurry eyes, and wiped the crud out of them. "Ugh. Damnit, Cartman. Did you have to wake me? I don't wake you when you fall asleep in class, which is way more often than I do!"

His muddy brown eyes- that I've always hated so damn much- narrowed. "Well, someone's gotta do the work, don't they? And I'm not about to do it."

"You gotta do something, you lazy fat-ass. I'm not doing all the work again."

"I'm not doing shit, so unless you want an F, you'd better get working, Jew-rat."

Fucking bitch. Glaring at him with as much hatred as I could muster in my exhausted state, I glanced down at the paper in front of me. It was notes.

I snorted out loud. "How fucking hard is it to take notes, dickhead? You write down what the teacher says! You fucking moron!"

"I did a little, but then I got lazy!" he responded indignantly. He pointed at a corner of the paper, where it said his and I's names. His was on top, and mine was on bottom. Except, instead of my name- Kyle Broflovski- it said Jewrat Browhogivesafuck.

"Dude. Seriously? You're so fucking immature. They should send you back to third grade."

"No thanks. I don't wanna ever go back to Garrison's class. He's such a pervert. And he's a fag."

"So are you, fat-ass. You won't admit it, but I think you're just confused. No straight guy acts like you."

"What about you, fucking kike? You never have hit on a girl since Rebecca, in third grade!"

"I hit on Wendy once, while I was pissed at Stan! That's twice. But look at you- I've never seen you hit on a girl, not once! Even when Wendy kissed you in third grade, you just sat there like a stupid ass. And you always try to get guys to suck your balls! You're obviously gay!"

"It's just a saying, dickwad! Suck my balls! Just an insulting saying!"

"Dude. You chased me across the country to get me to suck your balls, and then you cunjured the image up in front of everyone. You're a fag."

Now he was starting to get whiny, which was actually kind of funny, but irritating, none the less. "No, I'm not, goddamnit! You're the fag, you dick!"

From nearby, Token muttered, "You're both fags."

Cartman turned on him, shouting, "Shut up, you fucking black piece of shit!"

"Eric Cartman!" our History teacher, Mr. Ross, mumbled, waking from a deep sleep. He's likely a hundred years old. "That language is extremely inappropriate in this classroom environment! Apologize to both Token and Kyle, Eric, or you'll be sent to the principal's office!"

"Do I give a fuck, you wrinkly bag of cat piss?" Cartman snapped, standing angrily. Everyone gasped a little. This was a lot, even for Cartman. "You can suck my balls, Mr. Ross, and maybe even choke on them and die at the same time!" As he said this, he looked at me. Probably to prove his point about it being just an insult.

I knew I needed to control my temper, but for whatever reason, his weird triumphant smile pissed me the fuck off, so I stood and shoved him roughly, my hands meeting his chest and making him fall back into his seat. His eyes were wide in surprise, even though he quickly grabbed the desk to stop his fall.

He probably figured I wouldn't go that far. I didn't think I would either.

"Wow, Kahl, I didn't know you had it in you! That was great! You're pretty strong!" He stood again, however, and I scowled. He was about three inches taller than me, standing at 5'10, I think. I'm 5'7. "But, kike, I'll have to beat your ass now."

He used to be a pussy, but now he'd beaten a few peoples asses. Not mine yet, though, and I wasn't about to change that. However, my pride was more important than having my ass kicked. Trembling, I managed, "Suck my balls, Cartman."

Cartman laughed and shook his head. "You just don't get it. Your head is too thick. Or maybe it's your jewfro. Maybe you should get it cut."

He was eyeing my red curls, a smirk evident on his face. I never wore my hat anymore, so they stuck wildly out of my head, bouncing every time I moved.

He was so evil, it was amazing. Hell, he'd easily put Hitler to shame with his evilness.

"I like my 'Jewfro', Cartman, so I don't plan on cutting it any time soon." My patient voice was forced. And he knew it.

"You should, though, kike."

He hardly ever used that word, but I think he'd said it three times in the last minute. It pissed me off. My patient voice disappeared as I shouted, "Stop calling me a kike, Cartman!"

"No, Jewrat! Kike, kike, kike!"

I grabbed his jacket in my fists and shove him against the wall. I may be shorter than him, but my temper is pretty damn fiery. Maybe I could get a lucky shot.

"Don't. Call. Me. That. Cartman." I grind out.

"Why not? Kike?"

I let out a frustrated scream and kneed him in the stomach. He immediately doubled over in pain, and I grinned like a madman and took the oppurtunity to nail him where it hurt- right in the balls- with my foot.

"Ow! Fuck, you fucking Jew! That fucking hurt!" he growled for a moment, before whimpering slightly and falling to the ground, hugging his knees. He hid his face, but I could just barely see his ears, and they were pink.

Oh my God. I- small, nerdy Kyle Broflovski- embarrassed Cartman in front of the whole class.

He was gonna kill me later.

Mr. Ross' voice barely registered to my ears. "Uh. Wow. Um, students, you can get back to work. Leave Eric alone. Kyle, please stay after class for a moment. You too, Eric."

I didn't even respond. I just stared at Cartman, who still was hugging his knees. His face was hidden, but I swore I heard muffled crying. Cartman, crying? The last time he ever cried was fifth grade, when he got kicked in the balls by Wendy. But that was the same crying he did when I punched him in Canada. A whining, child-like cry. This was a real cry. An emotionally shattered cry, instead of a physically pained cry.

I heard words being exchanged between two people, but I couldn't tell who. Until a familiar hand touched my shoulder. Stan.

"Dude, it's okay. It's just Cartman. He cries all the time when he gets hurt or embarrassed. No big deal. Get back to your work."

I couldn't respond. Suddenly the bell rang and everyone shoved passed me to get out, but I was still staring at Cartman, who remained motionless.

Finally, the class was empty. Now Cartman's cries were a little louder, but then he became silent. He must have realized he was making sound and didn't want to be caught in front of me. Too late.

Mr. Ross looked at the two of us, saying, "Eric, could you look at me? I want to talk to you too."

Cartman tensed, but then moved his face around a bit- probably trying to dry the tears- and looked up.

Oh my God. I was right. He was crying. Tears were welled up in his eyes, and his cheeks had wet tracks running down them. I'd never seen actual tears come out of him. I was amazed. Normally he just wailed like a baby.

"Principal Jones and I were discussing you two the other day, because I was worried. She said she also was. So we came to the agreement that if you got in a fight or argument one more time, we'd punish you."

"But Mr. Ross," I respond. "It's just our nature. Cartman and I will argue 'till we die. We're just like that."

Cartman snorted, and I was a little relieved he was back to his old self. "I'm not doing shit. You can punish my ass. However, Kahl, there's no fucking 'we' with you and me. Got it?"

"I didn't mean it like that, fat-ass. I-"

"Don't even start, you two," Mr. Ross warned us. "Let me finish."

Cartman rolled his eyes, and I looked at my teacher worriedly.

"We're going to call your parents, and as long as they agree, starting on Monday, you two will live together."

It's so absurd, Cartman and I both started laughing. Cartman wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes after several minutes and said, "Yeah, okay, Mr. Ross. Where the fuck do you have a house to keep us in?"

"My mother just moved in with me, because she's reached an age where it's difficult for her to take care of herself. So he left her house. She's about to sell it, but she agreed she'd be happy to let me use it for a bit."

Cartman laughed, but the color was draining from my face. I didn't think he realize Mr. Ross was serious yet. The fat bag of shit said, "Wait, you're, like, a hundred. How old is your mom?"

Mr. Ross' eyes narrowed. "I'm only sixty-eight. My mother is ninety."

"Damn! Time to put that bitch to sleep!"

Mr. Ross growled. "If I could suspend you, I would, you little bastard."

Cartman grinned. "Can I leave now? School is over, and I have places to be."

"Monday of next week is October first. Today is Friday. Next week you'll both move into my mother's house and stay there together. We don't care what you do to the place, just as long as you don't hurt each other."

I raised my hand but didn't wait for him to call on me. "Does killing each other count?"

Cartman snorted.

"Yes, it does. Now goodbye, boys. I'll see you Monday. I'll be calling your parents later."

"Cool. Bye," Cartman said, standing up and leaving the room. I looked at Mr. Ross pleadingly, but didn't get a reaction as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Mumbling quietly, I said, "Bye, Mr. Ross. Have a nice weekend," before leaving the room.

Our lockers were in alphabetical order, so Cartman's was four away from mine. I passed him as he was struggling to get his stuff out of his mess of a locker and fell to my knees to work at my own locker's combo. Cartman's slammed shut as I opened mine, and I thought he was walking down the hall, until I realized there was no footsteps. I looked up, and he was staring down at me. But, unlike most times he looked at me, his eyes weren't filled with hate. This was really weird, since I just kicked him in his precious balls. Oddly enough they were filled with something weird. Almost... appreciation. And admiration. And a bit of envy. It's a weird look either way. I'd never expect it from Cartman, of all people.

"_My_ balls hurt like a motherfucker, but I am surprised _you_ had the balls to actually kick me. Good job, Jew."

The world was ending. Eric Cartman just complemented me, and for kicking him in the balls.

"Uh. Yeah. Thanks. Why are you, uh, complementing me? I thought you hated me."

"I do. But might as well be nice, since we'll be, y'know, living together next week."

"To be honest, I'm not looking forward to that at all," I said, closing my locker and getting to my feet. "I mean, I don't want my dick cut off while I sleep or something."

He grinned. "I didn't even think of that. I'll have to do that."

"Ugh. Fatass."

"Jew."

I rolled my eyes and started walking towards the doors. The halls were empty. And Cartman was worrying me. He was actually being nice. It made no sense. Especially because I had just kicked him in the balls.

He reached the doors first and held them open for me. Now I was seriously scared. "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you? You're being nice to me!"

"I just told you; you're gonna be my room mate, so I'll just stop being a dick to you for a while. So I don't piss you off. I don't trust you living with me in the first place, but if you're pissed at me, I'll have to watch my back even more."

Good logic, I guess, but I wasn't about to say it. "Oh. Okay."

We reached the school gates and slid out. Cartman got stuck for a minute, but I held back my laugh. I liked my body parts too, and I wanted to keep them. So I wasn't about to piss him off.

He pulled free and studied me for reaction, but I kept my face straight, and he quickly started walking again.

The walk was silent. Soon we reach the intersection where Cartman's house was on the right and mine was on the left, and with nothing but a brief nod to each other, we separated, heading our seperate ways.

As soon as I got home, I closed the door and leaned against it, saying aloud, "What the fuck just happened?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Chappie two. To my amazement and happiness I got a few reviews, favorites, and follows! Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter! I decided they'll be sixteen here. I've read a lot of Kyman stories where they end up going to college and I don't want to have to deal with that. Also, I was originally gonna make this a Style-ish chapter (heh heh, get the pun?) but then I decided I wanted to hurry along, because I want Kahl living with his favorite fatass by the fourth chapter. So nothing big really happens, but I still hope you enjoy!_

My weekend was mostly spent playing video games with Stan. We were in high school now, but video games were still a rare pleasure we sometimes liked to indulge in.

Right now, it was Sunday. We'd just finished dinner and were quick to sneak upstairs when Randy came home because he seemed to be in a bad mood. Also, to be honest, he kind of scared me sometimes, especially when he was in a bad mood. I swear, he needs professional help.

Now, we sat on Stan's bed, playing Call of Duty. Stan was leaning back against the wall his bed was pushed against, but I sat at the foot of his bed, squinting in concentration at the screen. We were playing Zombie mode, on hard, and they were fucking _everywhere._

"Three behind you, closing in fast," Stan warned, shooting at several in front of him.

"Got it, thanks." I turned my character around quickly and shot at the group, killing them with my current machine gun. "Crawler behind you!"

Stan shot at it rapidly, and then paused the game, looked at me, and grinned. "Thanks, buddy."

"No problem."

"Can we stop and talk for a minute?"

"Sure, man. What's up?" I set the controller to the side and turned to him before pulling my legs up so I sat cross-legged.

Stan set his own controller aside, stretching his legs out. "What'd Mr. Ross say to you and Cartman after school?"

I totally knew he'd ask me eventually. I actually was surprised that he hadn't already. "He was worried about us and told us that starting tomorrow we have to live together."

"What?" Stan echoed in horror. "You and _Cartman_ under the same roof?"

"I know. I'm fucking scared for my life."

"I am too. Who knows what the fuck he's capable of when no one else is around?"

"I know. Fuck..."

"Did you or him ask Mr. Ross what would happen if you didn't do it?"

"No. But I'm sure it would go on my permanent record or something."

"Probably. Well fuck. You're stuck then."

Yes, I was. I would never want to scar my personal record, especially when I'm this close to graduation. "I'm just gonna try to avoid him as much as I can."

"Okay, good. That's what I was thinking. It's probably your best bet."

"Uh-huh." After a pause, I added, "I'm fucking scared, man."

I wanted to tell about Cartman being _nice _to me, because that scared me most, but I was worried about what Stan would say, so I bit my tongue and said nothing.

About a half an hour of CoD and talking later, my mom came to pick me up. I said goodbye to Stan rather awkwardly and then I was quiet during the drive home. For once, Mom didn't say anything about my silence.

She had gotten the call on Friday night, and had told me that I had to go. That had been that.

When we got home, she told me, "You can go to bed now, Kyle. You seem tired, and there's a big day tomorrow. Sleep well, bubbe!"

"You too, Mom," I said tiredly. "Goodnight."

I trudged upstairs and went through the process of getting ready, but without much thought. My body just kind of moved for me. I had no reason to be, but I was really exhausted.

Before I knew it, I was waking up to the annoying beep of my alarm clock. I reached over and smacked it a few times until it fell silent. Then I let out a groan and fell out of my bed.

I sighed as I laid face down against the carpet. I had no energy to get up, let alone get ready.

"Morning Kahl!"

I jumped a foot as a familiar fatass dropped into my room from my window. Somehow he still snuck in sometimes, even though he was near six-foot now. He'd probably reach it in the next year or two- he'd been growing like crazy lately. It was weird, because for most of us stopped growing in eighth grade.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?"

"I wanted to walk to school with you. Room-mate," he added, an evil glint in his eye and a smirk at his lips.

"Why are you in my room then?"

"'Cause it's cold as a motherfucker outside."

"So you're just gonna wait here as I get ready?"

"Yeah. Then I'll leave out the window again, because I don't wanna deal with your bitch Mom. I'm actually having a decent day so far."

"You're not at all pissed that you have to live with me for a month?"

"It's gonna be too fucking fun to mess with you for me to be pissed."

"Well, I'm pissed, so get out of my room."

"But Kahhhhl!" he whined. "It's cold out therrrrre!"

"Use your fat for warmth. Like whales do with their blubber."

"Heartless fucker. I'm staying right here!"

"Get the fuck out of my room before I push you out the window."

"Someone's got a little sand in their vagina."

"Dude, seriously. Get the fuck out of my room."

"You didn't even deny it this time!"

"Fine, you want me to deny it? I don't have sand in my vagina, nor do I have a vagina."

"Yeah you do, Jew-rat. You had one last time I said you had sand in your vagina."

"Ugh. Fine. You're obviously not going to leave. You can stay in my room. But don't snoop around, and leave me alone."

Normally I would get dressed in my room, but the fatass was here, so I grabbed an orange polo shirt and a pair of jeans and trudged out of my room and into the bathroom.

I didn't realize I only wore boxers until I caught sight of myself in the mirror. That meant I was shirtless, in front of Cartman.

Fuck. I was barely even ever shirtless in front of Stan, and he's my best friend. Cartman- I hated the bastard. He was a complete asshole. But for whatever reason, lately I wasn't so confident in my dislike for him.

I pulled on the jeans over my boxers and then tugged on the shirt, quickly ruffling my hair and then brushing my teeth. I opened a bathroom drawer specifically used to store my needles and gave myself a quick shot of insulin in the arm. It used to bug me, injecting a needle into my skin every single day, but now it didn't.

I must have forgotten to lock the door, because just as I was pulling the needle out, Cartman barged in. "Gotta shit! Out!"

"You asshole!" I cursed as I stabbed myself too deep with the needle in surprise, causing blood to flow like crazy and a nasty cut to appear. "I told you I was getting ready in here! What the fuck are you doing?"

"You didn't tell me. You assumed I knew. I didn't. And I need to take a shit, so move."

"You're not stinking up my fucking bathroom."

"Says who? It's not like you're gonna be using it, Kahl."

"Goddamnit!" I shouted. "My name is not Kahl, and this is not your fucking house! And I'm not your fucking bitch so stop pushing me around!"

"Yes, but you're about to be my roommate, so I can push you around all I want." To prove his point, he shoved he out of the bathroom and slammed the door in my face. "I'll be out in a second. Wait for me, Kahl!"

"In your dreams, fatass," I said to the door.

_I better hurry to leave. Then I don't have to walk with him. _I raced into my room and grabbed my coat, pulling it roughly onto my body, and then snatched up my backpack.

I raced across the hall, passed Ike, who was just emerging from his room, pajama clad, and then took the stairs by two. One I reached the kitchen, Dad wasn't sitting in his normal chair, but Mom was at the stove, cooking something. I was curious where Dad was, but I didn't bother to ask.

Quickly, I told Mom, "I'm not really hungry, and Stan wanted to meet me early to talk to me. So I'm gonna go now."

"That's fine, bubbe. I wish you would eat, though; you've gotten real skinny lately, and-"

"I really have to go, Mom. Stan said it was important."

"Are you sure you don't want anythi-"

"I'm fine, Mom!" I said irritably. "I have to go! Goodbye!"

"Okay! Love you, bubala!"

Why did she still calm me those fucking nicknames? I slammed the door shut without answering and started at a good walking pace, but heavy footsteps soon began to follow me. I turned around to see Cartman plodding after me, and only then did I notice his clothing and equipment.

He wore the usual pair of ripped tennis shoes, but he also wore seemingly new jeans that were very slim, but not skinny; Eric Cartman would surely never wear skinny jeans. It would be, in his words, 'too faggy' for him. Surprisingly, he pulled them off, too, and I couldn't help but gawk. I saw him smirk but didn't acknowledge his face as I continued my assessment of him.

He wore a blue, zipped-up hoodie that was plain, with a purposely faded looking appearance. He wore no hat today, like me, and his hair was styled by the wind, blown up in all directions. I resisted the annoying urge to push down a cowlick near his face.

He was holding three backpacks; his usual, black school backpack, and then two other ones, one blue and one red.

Fuck. I forgot the bag I'd packed for the next month. Which was actually kind of good, because I didn't really say goodbye to my family, and I got away from the fatass for a while longer.

"Let me guess; you forgot." Cartman said, hurrying to keep up with my still-quick pace.

"No, you distracted me, asshole."

"Good for me."

I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets and slowing my pace so I could stare at the ground. "Could you leave me alone, Cartman? Please? We'll be spending plenty of time together later, so for this last heavenly six hours, please _go away_."

He did that annoying whining thing of his. "But Kahhhhhl. I wanna spend time with youuuuu."

"Look, Cartman, I don't know why you're so desperate to be near me all of a sudden, but I don't wanna be near you!"

He tried to speak, but I cut him off.

"I don't know if this is another fucking game of yours or what, but I don't wanna play in it. I'm tired, and pissed off, and I wanna be alone!"

"Kahl, stop."

"No, goddamnit! Not until you_ leave me alone_!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snapped when he grabbed my around the waist as I tried to run, holding me back. "Are you high? Or drunk? 'Cause you're being really fucking weird, Cartman!"

"Damnit, shut the fuck up, Jew! I'm not high or drunk. Do I look high or drunk?"

He spun me around so I faced him and practically shoved his face into mine, though he didn't touch me at all, except that fucking arm around my waist.

"Seriously, Kahl. Are my eyes red? Constricted? Perhaps dilated?"

_No, but they were fucking beautiful._ I always thought they were an ugly muddy brown color, but they actually kind of look like warm chocolate milk. _How fitting_, I thought, almost snorting. They even look like they have whip cream on top, since it's like there's pale white splotches topping the brown occasionally.

"Jew. Stop staring into my fucking eyes."

_Fuck! I was staring?_ I looked away. "Sorry."

Cartman finally let go of me, though it was clear he wasn't done. He studied my face for a long time, but I kept staring at someone's mailbox.

"Kahl?" he asked after a few moments, almost softly. Well, as softly as Cartman could ever speak.

I turned back to look at him, but instead of meeting his eyes, I focused on something past his head. "What." My voice was so flat it sounded like Craig's.

"Why do you hate me?" As he said this, I finally met his eyes again.

It was so sarcastic. It totally was. How he said it. How his face looked as he said it. But his eyes... they were so damn serious. They almost looked pleading, and distant, and sad.

"Because," I said patiently, hating him. "You've made my life hell since we were toddlers."

"What the fuck do you think you've done for me?"

"You insult me, I insult back. It's how it's always worked. But you- you, fatass- always start it." With this, I shoved an accusing finger into his chest, angrily meeting his eyes now.

"'Cause I like to piss you off! And you respond! And then I do, and then you do, and we argue, and I get my satisfaction. I, y'know, feed off the arguments. I always thought you did too."

I was about to lie and said that I didn't, but I did. I truly loved them. The arguments, of course, not the other person arguing. "Fuck you, Cartman, but I do too."

He grinned as we started walking again. "That's a good little Jew."

"Shut your fucking face, fatass."

"Y'know, we need to think of new nicknames for each other. It's been Jew and fatass for years. Kind of getting old."

"But it is true. I am a Jew and you are a fatass."

"You're also a dick."

"You're also a fag."

"Am not, you fucking Jew-dick!"

I laughed for a while. "Ha, that's a good one. Untrue, but really funny."

"Not untrue. You are a Jew-dick, because you're Jewish, and you have a dick."

"I may _have_ one, but I'm _not_ one."

"You're just mad 'cause it's small."

"You were one in a half inches in fourth grade, dumbass. How am I the one with the small dick?"

"It's grown since then! I'm now ten juicy inches!" Cartman proudly grinned at me.

"No you're not, fatass. Don't lie."

"Fine. Nine."

"You're lying."

"Eight."

"You're still lying."

"Okay, goddamnit! I'm seven inches, Jew. Honest."

"I still don't believe you. How did you grow five in a half inches in seven years?"

"...I don't know, but I did! I'm being completely seriously!"

"You're so goddamn stupid. Why would you lie about the size of your cock? It's not like I even care."

"Then why are we still talking about it?"

I sighed deeply through my nose. "I don't know, Cartman."

"And why don't you believe me? Are you just jealous 'cause yours is still two inches?"

"Mine's six, asshole," I snapped, finally stopping to face him. I also grabbed his hoodie as I did so he couldn't move. My face was inches from his.

"What if I said that I don't believe you?" He asked in a heavy voice, suddenly looking dizzy. His pale, chocolatey eyes were half lidded and his lips were parted. His breathing seemed a bit heavy, and those fucking eyes keep wandering over my face, from my skinny, fairly pointy chin to my annoying, painfully red curls.

"What, you want me to fucking prove it to you? Because if you do, I could fucking pull my pants down right now and show you my dick!" I shouted, a strange mix between both angry and amused, leaning forward even more.

Whatever power I had over him right now, I deeply enjoyed. He slumped down, his eyes falling to the powdery snow on the ground. His mouth kept opening and closing, and I could tell he was debating saying yes for shock value or no for the truth.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, he said in a flat tone, "Could you let me go, Kahl?"

I let go of him in disgust, feeling really weird. I was grossed out that our lips had been so close, but at the back of my mind I cursed myself for not kissing him.

Ew. That's a horrible thought.

I left him as he smoothed his wrinkled hoodie and then took off at a much slower pace behind me.

We walked in silence, quickly reaching the school gates, when Cartman caught up with me and told me, "I gotta go to my locker early so I could get all my shit in there. See you in English, Kahl."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as he leaned in and whispered in my ear in a rough voice, "Bye, room-mate."

It was totally irritating how he skipped off like a happy little school girl. I wanted to kick him in his 'seven inch dick' so bad.

I have to live with this annoying as fuck fatass for a month. _God, Jehovah, whoever, if you're there, please help me._


End file.
